


Her Protector

by theSapphireSky



Series: The Detective and the Pathologist [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Bit of a twist, F/M, Molly is Bond's sister, That's right, and ACTION!, but it's all good, teeny bit of life threatening, yep
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-17 03:31:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4650630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theSapphireSky/pseuds/theSapphireSky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone has been keeping an eye on Molly over the years. And he's not happy with the danger Sherlock's been dragging her into and sets about to stop the detective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock ascended the stairs of Baker Street slowly, trying to determine what was off. He had rushed into the foyer, as usual, but froze at the foot of the staircase as something triggered his defenses. Grabbing one of the umbrella’s he’d stolen from Mycroft, most likely the one with the hidden taser, he continued quietly upstairs, trying to find any evidence for why he felt disconcerted.

The doors were closed, as he had left them. No sounds came from inside the flat and he carefully turned the doorknob and stepped into the lounge. The moonlight and streetlights from outside cast eerie shadows in the chaos of 221b and his eyes immediately landed on the man sitting in his chair, dressed in a tailored suit and his face hidden in shadow.

‘Mr Holmes,’ the man’s gravelly voice greeted him.

For seven seconds, Sherlock deduced the man, before leaning the brolly against the wall and taking the armchair across from the intruder. ‘I’d offer tea, but I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting company,’ he quipped.

The man turned his face and Sherlock caught a glimpse of brilliantly blue eyes, lined with stories and sorrows. ‘Time is precious to both of us, so let us skip the pleasantries and quibbling neither of us care for.’

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. ‘Very well. Tell me, what have I done to warrant a visit from MI6? Surely Mycroft wouldn’t send one of his best on an errand to fetch me.’

‘M is unaware of my presence here. I made sure of that,’ the man replied.

‘I have no doubt of that. But you have not answered my question. Why are you here?’ Sherlock was beginning to lose patience, though his interest was piqued as much as it had ever been.

The man leaned forward, the bands of light running across his white-blond hair. A strip of light rested across his eyes and Sherlock fought against the unsettling desire to put distance between himself and the intensity of those eyes. ‘You, Mr Holmes. You have been on my radar for some time, always on the very edge, but now you have become an issue. One I’d like to see… resolved.’

Sherlock frowned, ignoring the shiver that ran up his spine at the gleeful lilt with which the man spoke. ‘I fail to see how I have been an issue; none of my current cases have any ties, however remotely, to MI6.’

‘Not a case, Mr Holmes.’ If possible, the man’s stare darkened further. ‘This is a family matter.’

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. ‘You have no family. The only recruits are those without emotional ties, thus reducing significantly complications in the field and the government’s responsibility when you are inevitably killed in action.’

The man didn’t respond. Sherlock glanced down at the unconscious twitch in the man’s fingers and he smirked.

‘You lied.’

The man hesitated and clenched his fists. ‘Yes.’

Sherlock looked at him carefully. ‘A sibling… sister.’

The blonde nodded once. ‘Annie and I were born eleven years apart. When our parents died, she was only 8. It was the hardest decision of my life, not to be her guardian. But I would have destroyed her.’ He closed his eyes and refocused himself into the hardened agent he was. ‘She was adopted by a barren couple and given the love she deserved; she had everything I ever wanted for her. Knowing that she was safe made it easier for me to cut myself from her life and work my way into MI6. She believes that I was killed in an ambush twelve years ago in Afghanistan. I adopted a pseudonym and had my past wiped clear of family; to the government I am an only child, an orphan, and alone. Her history, as well. There is nothing to possibly tie me to her.’

Suddenly, the man reached into his jacket and pulled out a Beretta 418, the muzzle flashing ominously in the light as he pointed it directly between Sherlock’s eyes.

‘Until you.’

Sherlock swallowed, the sound lost as the man pulled the hammer back. He recognized the gun from the files he’d stolen from Mycroft and it wasn’t difficult to put it together with the rest to determine who exactly was sitting across from him. And it shook him to his core.

James Bond, 007, one of MI6’s most notorious agents, was a ghost. If you met him, either you didn’t know it or you were facing imminent death. And staring down the barrel of the infamous Beretta 418, Sherlock knew which category he fell under.

Bond’s face, already hidden in shadow, darkened further as he leaned forward. ‘You have put her in danger with your crime-solving, vigilante antics. I didn’t sacrifice our relationship, let her believe me to be dead, only for someone to put a bullet through her heart because of a bastard like you.’

Faking a calm he most certainly did not feel, Sherlock leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. ‘I assure you, I have done nothing to endanger your sister, Mr Bond. In fact, I do not even know an Annie.’ Sighing, he dropped his hands dramatically and turned his face away. ‘What is Mycroft thinking, recruiting middle-aged idiots to do his legwork?’

The gun did not waver from its target. ‘My sister’s name, Mr Holmes, is Ann Margaret.’

Sherlock turned back with a disinterested raise of his brows.

‘You may know her better as Molly. Molly Hooper.’

His heart stuttered in his chest and he felt the air leave his lungs in a rush.

Bond smiled coldly. ‘So you do know her.’

‘M-Molly Hooper… is your sister.’ Oblivious to the stutter and the waver in his voice, Sherlock managed to piece several thoughts together.

Bond tilted his head and the light caught his blue eyes once more. From what Sherlock had seen, nothing about the man was anything like Molly Hooper; where she was pale and fair, Bond was dark and tanned, she had brown hair tinged with red highlights, his cropped hair was white-blonde, her eyes were brown and wide with compassion, his were frigid-blue and lined with horrors unseen.

But there was something in the way he put what was best for someone he loved above his interests that was undeniably Molly.

‘I would never let anyone hurt her,’ Sherlock growled.

The gun did not move. ‘And what makes you think you can protect her from your enemies? James Moriarty… he got rather close. _Twice_. The second time, she almost died at his hand.’ Sherlock flinched as the hand holding the gun clenched in anger. Bond’s voice darkened threateningly. ‘Had you gone for him three seconds sooner, you would be the one with my bullet in your brain. No one… no one gets to Annie.’

‘Molly,’ Sherlock corrected and rose to his feet, Bond following him, but never dropping his aim. ‘She became Molly when you left. And Molly is made of the same gumption and tenacity you are. She managed to kill Sebastian Moran while being held hostage, she faked my death, she lied for years to those she loved to protect me, and she faced James Moriarty and came out alive. She is not the child you left behind.’

Bond circled around the coffee table, the streetlights glinting off the barrel of his gun. ‘You’re right, she’s not. But if anything, that only makes me more determined to protect her. She’s on the edge of a world that would destroy her; and you’re the one pulling her over. She loves you and would follow you to the deepest depths of Hell, if you asked her, staying there if it meant you were safe.’

Sherlock’s stomach clenched. ‘I know.’

‘So you can understand why I would never want her to have that option,’ Bond said casually and narrowed his eyes as he prepared to fire.

‘But wouldn’t killing me do the very thing you’ve been trying to prevent for almost thirty years?’ Sherlock asked, his heart thundering and his eyes trained on the gun, trying to talk his way out of this predicament and also calculate the likelihood of his evading the straight-on bullet. ‘If you kill me… it would destroy her, from the inside out. We both know that.’

Bond hesitated, but nothing showed on his scowling face. Finally, he spoke, his voice no louder than a hoarse whisper. ‘What would you do? If you cared for someone so deeply that the very thought of their absence from this world tears your heart in two and you had an opportunity to prevent that… what would you do, Mr Holmes?’

Though his first instinct was to scoff at the very idea of caring for anyone, the thought of a world without Molly flashed across his mind and he froze, blinking rapidly. His heart tugged painfully and he suddenly felt unsettled on his feet, as though the earth had shifted under him. Molly gone? Visions of a future where he worked at Bart’s without her left him feeling oddly bereft. They were friends, yes, but since her kidnapping and subsequent rescue following Moriarty’s return, they had developed a rapport and friendship that flirted with something more; something that Sherlock was terrified to acknowledge. He may not know how to tell her that friendship wasn’t enough, but he knew that a future without Molly alive and filling his life with smiles and the occasional slap was a future he never wanted to face.

He glared at Bond. ‘I would do whatever I could to keep her safe. But she is safest when she is with me. And if you think for one second I wouldn’t die for her-’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Bond snapped. ‘It doesn’t matter if you’re too late.’

Sherlock stepped closer, knowing he was taking a huge risk with his life, but momentarily enjoying the feeling of looking down at the shorter man. ‘ _I. Will. Never. Be. Late_.’ Each word fell heavy on his heart, but even as they faded into the quiet of the room, he knew that no promise he’d made before was more deeply felt.

Maybe it was a trick of the light, but Sherlock was almost certain that Bond had smiled, his eyes crinkling briefly before falling back into the cold mask. He released the hammer and slowly slid the Beretta back into the shoulder holster under his suit coat.

‘If you break that vow, Mr Holmes, you will pay for it with your life.’

Sherlock stared back at him and nodded solemnly. Accepting the acknowledgement, Bond straightened his suit lapels and flashed a cool smile at the detective.

‘Glad we understand each other. It’s been a pleasure,’ he quipped and strode past Sherlock toward the door, clearly not one to waste time with chit chat.

Unable to stop himself, Sherlock whirled around and called after him. ‘Will you ever tell her the truth?’ The spy froze with his hand on the doorknob. ‘That the brother she mourned is alive?’

Bond’s fist tightened around the doorknob and the muscles in his neck strained as he clenched his jaw. Without a word, he jerked open the door and shut it quietly behind him, the gentle, decisive click his answer.


	2. Watching Over Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Left this one in my ficlet collection and finally moved it over to the right place! Because I wrote a third part. :D Turning into a fic all its own!!!

It was the last warm day of autumn and the leaves were at their most brilliant, blazing gold and red against the setting sun. Laughter and voices carried on the breeze drifting across the countryside from the small gathering on the lawn outside the Holmes’ family cottage. Every so often, the strains of a recorded violin would interrupt the conversations and Sherlock would hold his hand out to Molly, who would toss her head back and laugh, pretending to be put out as he led her in another waltz. Her shoes abandoned long ago, she danced barefoot, the hem of her white gown sweeping across the ground as they danced and her hair falling out of its simple chignon, framing her glowing face.

When the sunlight was nearly gone and the lanterns had been lit, Sherlock lifted his gaze from Molly’s and froze. Silhouetted against moonlight, a man stood on the hill, indistinguishable from the distance to the average eye. But Sherlock instantly recognized him.

His heart skipped a beat.

‘Sherlock?’ Molly looked up at him worriedly and started to turn her head to see what had caught his attention. He stopped her with a quick kiss.

‘I’ll be right back.’

He slipped from her arms and grabbed a nearby lantern. Behind him, Mycroft had obviously known the man was coming and smoothly intercepted Molly’s attempt to follow Sherlock. The lantern’s light danced across the sloping field as he walked further from the celebration, the noise growing dim.

The man on the hill stood sentry, never breaking his gaze from Molly. The ends of his long coat waved in the gentle breeze and he’d popped his collar, the black fabric stark against his white-blond hair.

‘Hello, Sherlock.’

‘Brother,’ Sherlock replied as he stepped up to Bond’s side and turned to face the festivities on the lawn below.

Bond quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t reply.

‘She misses you.’

From the corner of his eye, Sherlock caught a flash of sorrow pass over the spy’s face.

‘I know.’

They stood in silence for a time, watching as Molly coaxed Mycroft into dancing with her. Several whiskey shots flowing through him, the British Government barely put up a fight and allowed his newly-minted sister-in-law to pull him into the open space. Sherlock and Bond let out simultaneous snorts when Mycroft lowered his usual mask of indifference and threw himself into the dance, clearly not one to hold his liquor well. Molly’s laughter cut through the air as Mycroft twirled her around and dipped her exaggeratedly.

‘You make her happy.’

Sherlock tucked his hands into the pockets of his suit. ‘Apparently so. Though I have no idea how.’

Bond chuckled softly.

‘Did you come to tell her?’ Sherlock asked, though he knew the answer.

‘No,’ Bond whispered. ‘I came to make sure she is safe. Safe… and happy.’

Sherlock felt his heart ache at the wistfulness in Bond’s voice, the sadness underneath it all that spoke of the spy’s desire to be a part of Molly’s happiness and to share in her wedding day.

‘I trust that my previous warning continues to be heeded.’

‘Indeed.’ Sherlock slipped his hands into his pockets. ‘And considering she is now related to your superior and has him wrapped around her finger, her protection is now the second highest in the country.’

Bond raised his eyebrow in question.

Sherlock smirked. ‘She plays on Mycroft’s sweet-tooth with the proficiency of a trained spy. England might fall if she ever revoked his ‘Tuesday Torte’ privileges.’

‘The great and powerful M, brought to his knees by a tiny, though fiercesome woman and her pastries.’ From the corner of his eye, Sherlock watched as Bond well and truly smiled, his angular face softening with fondness and pride. The spy let down his guard for just a moment as he watched the sister he had given up laugh and dance, all dangers forgotten and all sorrows laid aside.

‘For what it’s worth,’ Sherlock finally turned to look at his brother-in-law. ‘Your disappearance from her life, though it broke her heart, has helped form her into the Molly I love; fierce, strong, and compassionate. For that… I can only thank you.’

Bond’s throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, a faint sheen in his ice blue eyes.

With a tight, but sincere smile, Sherlock broke away to head back to the celebration. He hadn’t gone five steps before he stopped to call over his shoulder ‘Will you ever tell her?’

The rustling trees and distant laughter were his answer.

He looked back to find the hilltop was empty, all signs of the spy fading into the night. With a heavy sigh, he resumed his walk back to his bride, letting the disappointment fade as he watched Molly dance with his father, her laughter carrying on the light breeze as her father-in-law no doubt regaled her with stories of Sherlock’s childhood.

He smiled softly. She had already grieved for her brother and was moving on with her life. Perhaps… perhaps it was for the best if Bond didn’t return.


	3. Their Protector

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Violence and death (nobody important, I promise!)

Molly woke with a start and sat upright, the sheets pooling at her waist. Holding her breath, she listened.

_Creak_ . _Thump._

Heart thundering, she slid out of bed and grabbed her phone from the stand, pressing the power button three times in succession. False alarm or not, she would never take the risk.

_Chhhhhckkkk_

She inhaled sharply at the sound of someone moving aside one of the kitchen chairs. Without turning her back on the door, she reached down for the pistol Mycroft had given her for protection and skirted the bed, leveling the barrel at the closed door.

The soft sighs of her baby daughter sleeping soundly in the cot behind her grounded her thoughts, keeping panic at bay.

The doorknob turned slowly. Molly focused on breathing deeply and steadily.

It swung in and from the shadows, a dark figure emerged dressed entirely in black, his face the only part of him that was uncovered.

The moonlight from the window crossed his body as he crept forward and Molly’s gaze was caught by the glint of a gun with silencer in his hand.

He eyed the empty bed and paused before looking up. When he locked eyes with Molly, he moved to raise his gun. But Molly was faster.

This man had come with the express purpose of killing her and her daughter. She knew her anatomy and Sherlock had insisted Mycroft give her the proper training. So in the space of a heartbeat, she’d aimed for his weakest spot and fired. The gunshot pierced the silent night, immediately followed by her daughter’s cries and the assassin’s scream of pain.

A flurry of curses flew from his mouth. He clutched his thigh and dropped to the ground. Molly knew she hadn’t nicked his femoral artery, but she had hit the femur bone. She grimaced against her will, knowing the pain she had inflicted would be unbearable.

She kept the gun trained on him. ‘Who are you?’

‘You _bitch!_ ’ He cursed her. His breathing was labored and he was clearly on the edge of unconsciousness, but he had yet to release his hold on his gun.

‘Drop the gun,’ Molly demanded. ‘Or the next one goes right through your heart.’

He glowered up at her, sweat glistening on his forehead, a sickly tinge on his face.

‘Drop. It.’

His face twisted in a sneer, made only more grotesque by the pain. His words came out stilted as he laboured to breathe. ‘I never leave a job unfinished. I was just supposed to kill you and take the little brat. But now, I’ll just kill you both. Save myself the trouble.’

The cries from the cot grew louder and Molly felt the stranglehold of fear begin to wrap around her heart. She cocked the hammer back and pointed it right over his heart.

He swallowed thickly and centered himself. ‘You don’t have the guts.’

‘For her, I would do anything,’ she hissed. A ringing filled her ears as he raised his own gun. Her finger tightened on the trigger.

But before she could take the shot, a figure appeared behind the man, emerging from the shadows, and caught the would-be killer in a choke hold and twisted hard, a sharp crack piercing the air. He let go and the body dropped to the floor with a sickening thud, his hate-filled eyes staring up blankly.

Molly’s eyes widened as she took in the sight. The man stood over the body, dressed in a dark turtleneck and trousers, a gun holstered around his shoulders and under his left arm. His face was obscured in the shadows, but his white-blond hair was striking even in the dark.

Silence descended in the flat as the baby’s cries fell to soft whimpers. Molly ached to tend to her, but she wasn’t sure they were safe yet and she didn’t want to turn her back on this stranger. This killer.

‘Are you okay?’

His voice was deep, calm.

‘Yes,’ Molly whispered. There was something about him that was achingly familiar.

But then he retreated, turning away to leave.

‘Wait!’ She cried out. He froze but didn’t turn. ‘Are you one of Mycroft’s men?’

He didn’t answer.

She released the trigger and lowered the gun. ‘I know you.’

His breath hitched.

‘Who are you?’ For some reason, she knew that his answer was important. So very, very important.

He turned slightly and she caught a glimpse of his sharp profile in the moonlight. ‘What did you name her?’ He asked, his voice low and hoarse.

Molly blinked in surprise then looked down at her daughter. A smile played on her lips and she brushed a hand over her baby’s downy head, her whimpers abating at Molly’s touch. ‘Erica.’

He inhaled sharply and she looked up in question.

‘Beautiful name.’ Was it her imagination or was his voice thick, as if with emotion?

‘Who are you? Molly asked again and stepped closer.

He stiffened and cleared his throat. ‘Keep her safe.’

Suddenly from below, there was a ruckus of slamming doors and shouts, followed by thundering footsteps up the stairs. Distracted, Molly turned toward the sound and when she looked back, the man was gone, the curtains fluttering in the breeze from the open window.

‘Molly! Erica!’ Sherlock burst into the bedroom and completely ignored the body on the floor as he leapt over the bed. ‘Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did they hurt her?’ His panic was mildly allayed as he looked her over then bent over the cot’s side and brushed his hand over Erica’s soft hair. His shoulders slumped in relief and he scooped his baby up, cradling her high against his chest, then gathered Molly against his side. He kissed her forehead and let his lips linger as his heart rate calmed down.

‘I will never ever ever leave you again, not even for a nine,’ he promised. Molly laughed softly, tears filling her eyes as the adrenaline of the night wearing off. She held him tight and closed her eyes as she breathed in the calming scent of her husband.

From the kitchen, she could hear Mycroft and his men setting about cleaning up the scene.

_Keep her safe_. The man’s words echoed in her mind.

She pressed a loving kiss to her daughter’s soft, round cheek and closed her eyes.

_Always_.

oOo

‘M’ eyed the agent standing before him. Trained, conditioned, merciless. The man was nearly a machine.

Nearly.

‘Your next assignment.’ With an ominous glare, he handed the file over. Bond flipped open the cover and Mycroft caught the moment realisation dawned in the agent’s ice blue eyes.

‘You’re sending me abroad.’

Mycroft steepled his hands and leaned his elbows on his desk. ‘For the time being.’

Bond’s usual cool and collected demeanor wavered and a flash of fury crossed his face. Had Mycroft been any other man, he would have been afraid of being on the wrong side of the infamous Beretta 418.

‘Eric Hooper is dead.’

Bond’s head whipped up and his jaw clenched.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes and stood, gesturing for Bond to leave. ‘You would do well to remember that, Mr Bond.’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is such a fun premise to come back to! :)


End file.
